


Numb

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, episode-related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-30
Updated: 2003-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-01 09:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/355192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex learns forgiveness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Numb

**Author's Note:**

> Because Lex standing there alone at the end of Insurgence was just wrong. And because Lex asked "How did you get inside?" instead of, "How the hell did you get to Metropolis before me and my helicopter?", I'm assuming Lex knows about Clark's powers, which now include super-breath. The italicized lines are direct quotes from the episode. 

## Numb

by midnightBlue0162

[]()

* * *

Disclaimers: If they were mine, Clark would have a decent haircut. 

Thanks to Homie V for the constant encouragement, and to Eli for the fantabulous beta. 

* * *

The water is hot enough. He knows it is, because he can't feel it anymore. He stares idly down at the red streaks spreading over his chest, watching his too pale skin change from blush to pink to pain under the clear whip of water. There should be another way to tell, he thinks. Two degrees from freezing or hot enough to scald, water always looks the same. The only way to tell is to risk the sting. 

It reminds him of his father. 

His father, proud and smiling and clapping Clark on the shoulder. Genuinely grateful, probably, but Lex knows better. Knows the gesture hid something vicious and boiling, something meant for him, bobbing just below the surface. See the mess you made, son. See how loyal Martha Kent's boy is, rushing in to clean it up for you instead of negotiating with a madman over a cell phone from thirty floors below. 

Negotiating. Now that's a generous term for it. _I_ ' _ll_ _match_ _what_ _he_ ' _s_ _offering_. _Just_ _don_ ' _t_ _hur_ t _them_. Begging. Begging is probably a better word. 

Guilt and shame break through, unacceptably sharp and insistent. Lex turns under the stream and absorbs the new lashes in silence. He closes his eyes as fresh patterns bloom across his shoulders and down his back. By the time they reach his ankles, the blushing tendrils have carried away the worst of it. The physical pain is better. Easier. The lesser of two evils, he thinks, and winces at the cliche. 

It sounds like something Jonathan Kent would say. 

Jonathan Kent, proud and glowering and grumbling about respect for privacy. Lex couldn't stop himself. _You_ _do_ _nothing_ _but_ _lecture_ _me_ _with_ _sanctimonious_ _platitudes_. _I_ ' _m_ _done_ _listening_ _to_ _them_. He regretted the words instantly. Spent most of the drive home thinking up ways to buy them back. He was running out of father-figures to disappoint. 

So when Jonathan showed up in his office, Lex did what was expected of him. He let the man sweat, choking on his pride, stumbling over the words. Blaming himself. 

The irony was exquisite. 

The relief was overwhelming, but the truce was pitifully short. In the end, he offered platitudes of his own. _Whatever_ _I_ ' _m_ _doing_ _is_ _in_ _the_ _best_ _interests_ _of_ _your_ _wife_ _and_ _my_ _father_ , _believe_ me*. 

Believe me. 

Begging. 

Again. 

He turns back and ducks his head under the spray. Remnants of regret melt over his ears, trickling along the line of his jaw and spouting off his chin. Through the spidery red haze of his closed eyelids he sees them again. Jonathan and Martha and Clark. The very model of family unity. 

It hurts him somewhere the water can't reach. 

Jealousy and longing and Clark, not in his arms. Disbelief and sorrow and Clark, not smiling at him. He watched from somewhere outside himself while the Kents had their reunion. Hugs and tears and Clark. Not even looking at him. He turns again, seeking a new stream of liquid punishment to bury that pain. Keeps turning. Somewhere around the third revolution it becomes clear. 

He's run out of skin to sacrifice. 

The soft click of the shower door behind him almost doesn't register. He pushes the hand roughly away from his hip and steps out of reach. 

"It's a school night, Clark. Go home." 

Two hands now, sliding low and resting lightly on his hips. No other answer, no other touch. He tries to ignore the way his body is suddenly so keenly aware of the presence at his back. Doesn't want to be leaning, his wounded skin anticipating the moment of contact. He catches himself. 

"Something wrong with that super-hearing of yours? I said leave." 

Still nothing. He senses the loss of pressure against his skin as Clark moves in, blocking the stream. Anger and petulance at that loss. He wasn't finished yet. Turns his head, eyes fixed and ready to make Clark leave when he feels the soft, cool puff on the back of his neck. A second, longer stroke of soothing breath sinks between his shoulder blades and he arches involuntarily. Clouds of frost break against his back, erasing the sting of retribution, and he's whispering mumbling pleading with his forehead pressed to the wall. 

"No. No, stop, I--" I need those. He manages to hold his tongue in place before that slips out, but his hands have drifted. Traitors. Clark's fingers spread and his own slip between them, curling and gripping and squeezing and he doesn't remember stepping back, but the wall is farther and Clark is closer, too close, and there's entirely too much sensation on both sides of his skin. 

Unacceptable. 

He decides to change tactics. He grinds himself back against Clark, shifts until their bodies are aligned and drags one of Clark's hands down to his cock. Pumping slowly, he tilts his head back and turns his face into Clark's neck. Their joined hands find a rhythm and their hips follow along and it's good, too good, and he has to let go, has to see. Clark doesn't disappoint him, the strong hand now gliding unfettered as teeth scrape lightly at his neck. No, Clark never lets him down. 

"Is this what you came for, hero? Saving the day got you all worked up?" 

That does it. 

Victory is bittersweet. The hand, the teeth, the solid warmth he hadn't realized he was leaning against are gone in an instant, and this time the click of the door echoes sharply as he sinks to the floor. 

* * *

He's shivering when he wakes up. One fumbling hand finds the edge of the blanket and tugs. Nothing. Since his eyes refuse to open, he tests out his voice. 

"Clark." 

Nothing again. Just silence. Something oddly familiar about that, but he's too numb to figure out what. 

"Share, Clark. I'm cold." 

Even a sleeping Clark is never this unresponsive. Not a good sign. He opens his eyes cautiously, and it's worse than he thought. Blanket twisted in his hands, Clark waits. Something flickers in the back of Lex's memory, something that would probably explain that look on Clark's face, but he manages to drive it away. Briefly. Then he shifts to sit up and the dull tightness across his skin reminds him. 

Fuck. 

Clark can never sleep when they fight. Lex glances at the clock. Impatient tonight. He'd only been asleep for an hour. And from the look of the sad, mangled blanket, it had not been a pleasant one. 

He settles against the headboard, gathering a thin sheet into his lap and waiting for Clark to begin. He studies his chest in the moonlight, slides a leg out and examines his bare thigh. Clark had done a good job. 

There was no point in struggling. He'd learned that early on. So he just held on when Clark lifted him off the floor and carried him out of the bathroom. Lex remembers the harsh scratch of the blanket on his back as Clark set him down on the bed. Remembers thinking it was too late, that the rough weave of silk was peeling his skin away and there was nothing Clark could do about it. Then the big hands were turning him, fingertips trembling over his skin, and soft lips chased the soothing currents that flowed over his body. Clark was so gentle and the touches so chaste, he had to wonder if Clark understood that it hurt more that way. 

Because Clark knew. Lex saw the suspicion shadowing Clark's eyes when he excused himself to 'make a few phone calls.' He saw suspicion crumble into understanding while Clark watched him 'negotiating'. Clark knew what he'd done, what he'd caused, what he'd risked, and still Clark was gentle. Lex had wanted the pain, wanted to drown in it because it was all he deserved, and still Clark was gentle. Anger or disgust he could have met and responded to. But this tender, unyielding comfort left him aching. 

When the last of the burning faded, he'd been prepared to push Clark away again. He couldn't accept what Clark was offering. Closing his eyes, he listened for the quiet sigh that meant Clark was about to curl around him. He'd fallen asleep waiting for it. 

"Apologize." 

Clark's voice startles him back to the present. 

"I'm sorry." 

Quick and empty, the words spill out before he can stop them. He knows Clark won't believe him. Hell, he doesn't believe himself. He shifts closer, gliding across cool sheets that should have been warm beneath their sleep-tangled bodies. Reaching out to cover Clark's hand, he lets just enough of the previous night's disaster replay in his mind to put truth behind the words. "Clark. I'm so sorry. If anything had happened to your mother, I'd..." 

"Not for that." 

What? 

Clark is tracing slow, careless patterns into his palm, like they're trying to decide on a movie instead of reviewing his sins. Lex pauses and tries again. "I shouldn't have pushed you away earlier, especially..." 

"Strike two." 

Christ, what else was there? Lex follows Clark's wandering finger, looking for a hint in its restless meandering. The light tickle wanders up to his wrist and he concentrates, really, because he's sure there's something else he needs to confess, but Clark's fingers are brushing the inside of his elbow and he thinks Clark might be pulling him into his lap. Hands on his hips again, teeth revisiting his neck, and more helpless words tumble from his lips. 

"I...I shouldn't have said those things to your father, I was just..." 

"Jesus, Lex." Damp heat at the base of his neck. 

"What?" Eyes slowly opening, barely focusing. 

"You really don't know, do you?" Clark looking at him, his eyes searching and sad and lovely. 

He really doesn't know. 

But he wants to. Suddenly, desperately needs Clark to explain it to him. He shakes his head because he doesn't know how else to ask. Clark grins. 

There's that ache again. 

The hands on his hips tighten. He steadies himself on broad shoulders, feels the liquid flex of muscle under his hands as Clark lifts him. Spreads his legs and repositions himself, the golden skin of Clark's torso sliding easily between his thighs. Clark's knees slide up and Lex finds himself pressed back against them, loosely cradling Clark's head to his chest. He closes his eyes and tries to understand. 

Since the moment he found that surveillance device in his office, nothing has made much sense. This least of all. 

"Clark, what--" 

"Shh. Just listen." 

And Clark is kissing him, sweet gentle pressure on his lips while hands stroke down his sides and ease him forward again. And he's kissing Clark, rocking softly against the heat building between them while those hands slide over his ass, squeezing and spreading. A slick finger dips low and teases him, circling lightly. "Lex." 

A muffled sigh is all he can muster in response. 

"Lex, why do you hate it when I apologize for ripping the roof off the Porsche?" 

The finger slips in easily. "Because..." God, two fingers now, and it's too soon but he's straining against the sudden burn, rolling his hips and clinging to Clark's neck. "Because it's not...fuck, Clark...not your fault. You did what you had to do." 

He's sticky-wet against Clark's belly as they rock together. Except Clark's not moving anymore and after he stills his needy hips, Lex's brain finally hears what his mouth has just said. 

Forgiveness shouldn't hurt this much. 

Clark's hand moves behind him, three swift, slippery strokes before he's lifted again. He holds Clark's face between his palms, drowning there as he sinks and stretches and finally understands. Understands with his whole body that this throbbing heat, this delicate pain, is where he belongs. Sharper than the water. More subtle than the rosy trails it left across his skin. He leans in, licking Clark's lips, winding his fingers through Clark's hair as he kisses him slow and deep, his tongue saying things he can't possibly articulate with the desperate hope that it's enough. One aching moment later, Clark begins to move. 

Lex rises up, riding the steady thrust of Clark's hips beneath him. He keeps their mouths together, keeps their chests together, sliding and fucking and leaning, Clark is leaning back on one arm and Lex edges forward into the new angle and has to gasp at the change in friction. Panting now, Clark is panting in his ear, moaning into his neck, his free hand gripping the back of Lex's scalp. Hot and slick and pounding and Lex almost mistakes the trembling, almost ignores the dampness on his shoulder because he's just too damn close to do anything but hold on. 

But Clark is closer, and holding on really is all he can do because Clark's fist is working between their bodies, gripping and pumping in time with his hips. He catches his name on a ragged sob and it breaks him, his cock pulsing in Clark's hand, thick streams covering Clark's chest and spreading to his own on the next thrust. 

Clark breathes out his name again when he comes. 

Lex seeks out the soft lips, swallowing the quiet whimpers that follow until they're just rocking, kissing, clinging to each other. Clark lets go first, sinking onto his back, spread and breathless beneath him. Lex leans over, sighing as his body lets go, hovering there a moment before pressing his lips to Clark's shining cheeks. 

"Shhh, Clark, don't. It's okay. I'm okay." He pulls his head back, brushes sweaty strands from the smooth forehead and waits for Clark to look at him. 

"You shouldn't... I can't stand you hurting yourself, Lex." 

"I know, baby, I'm so sorry. Never again." 

* * *

There is a quiet sigh, and Clark curls around him. Lex drifts comfortably, warm and sated. He's almost asleep when something occurs to him. 

"Clark?" 

"Hmm?" 

"How _did_ you get in the building?" 

He can feel the grin with his eyes closed. 

"I jumped." 

"From the ground?" 

"Right, because there were hardly any people around to notice that." Wet, open kiss on the back of his shoulder. "From the Daily Planet. The roof." 

"The broken window. That was you." He pictures it, the speed and the force and the shattering, helpless glass. "Cool." 

"Yeah. Now go to sleep, Lex. It's a school night." 

* * *


End file.
